


Silent Protagonist

by LawrenceKinden



Category: Original Work
Genre: Book - Freeform, Consensual spanking, F/M, Girl - Freeform, Imagination, Spanking, boy - Freeform, playing war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawrenceKinden/pseuds/LawrenceKinden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the field of battle, many hurts need assuaged. [Story Contains Spanking]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Protagonist

Out back, beyond the unfenced yard of my parent's house, was a field. It was a field of rocky hillocks and sudden folds, of tall grasses and little copses, of untold possibility and boundless imagination. It was where my friends and I made war on faceless enemies, explored alien planets, and swilled rum surrounded by plundered loot. The field was large, and as such could accommodate several packs of boys. It was not uncommon for sudden scuffles and even once a full blown war to erupt upon that field. These conflicts were rarely more serious than a skinned knee and bruised ego, and none of us took the conflicts seriously beyond the bounds of that field.

I was surprised one day, however, to find a girl in the field. Girls did not make forays into the field. She was sitting at the edge of a copse of aspens on a small pink folding chair, reading a book. She was wearing a pale green dress and yellow and white striped t-shirt. Her black hair was in pollywogs and her brown eyes hidden behind thick glasses.

She looked up at me as I entered her domain.

I was in a dirty t-shirt and cut off jean shorts a stick for a rifle and an old backpack stuffed with soda cans for grenades. It was a war of course, and just as a girl had no place in the field, she had no place in a war.

I blinked at her as she blinked at me.

"Are you injured, solider?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"Then what are you doing at my hospital?"

I shrugged.

"Well, go back to killing the enemy then." She waved me away and went back to her book.

I hurried off. Jimmy's favorite hiding spot was a tiny valley just over the next hillock, and I was prepared to dump my backpack of grenades over his head, but my mind stayed with the girl in the pollywogs and glasses. That's why I didn't notice that while I was sneaking up on Jimmy, Kenny was sneaking up on me. As I was unslinging my pack preparing to leap out at Jimmy, I was suddenly pushed hard from behind, knocked to the hard-packed dirt. I put my hands out to brace myself and caught my left palm on a sharp rock.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

I blinked up through dirt and tears to see Kenny with his stick pointed at me like a rifle. He was laughing.

"Got ya! You're dead!"

Behind me, Jimmy crawled out of his hiding spot. "Sneaking up on me, were ya?"

He picked up my backpack and dumped out the soda cans over me. I shouted inarticulately and scrambled away. He threw the backpack at me and I stumbled and fell again.

"You're dead," Jimmy said. "You're not supposed to move when you're dead."

They laughed again.

I picked up my backpack and slung it on my back, ready to go home. My hand hurt and I was dirty and I was being laughed at by two of the dumbest meatheads on the block.

"Aw, is he crying?" Jimmy mocked.

I wasn't.

"Is he gonna go cry to his mama?" Kenny mocked.

I wasn't.

"Is he a chicken and doesn't want to play anymore?"

And that did it. I slammed my backpack to the ground and spun to face them, pointing my stick not like a rifle, but like a sword. According to the unwritten rules of wars in the field, they could either accept my challenge like men or run away like cowards, but clearly I was no longer the same sneaking soldier they'd killed moments ago. Now I was a duelist.

"You're dead," Kenny said. "I shot you in the back."

I sneered at him.

But Jimmy stepped forward. "You want a duel? Fine."

A silent, stretched, tense moment took hold. The weight of the moment pressed down upon us, still the breeze. It was just him and me.

Jimmy shattered the moment with a shout. He leapt at me, sword swinging. In a burst of clacking violence, Jimmy and I tried out best to hit the other. I ducked and dodge and swung with all my might. After several moments more, my stuck cracked against his side and he howled.

"I'm telling!" Even as he screamed the dreaded curse at me, he threw his stick, missing me by a hand's-breadth.

Kenny threw his stick at me too, and I swatted it aside with my own, impressed with my own sudden ability, certain I'd be unable to reproduce it. They ran off, leaving me the field and a sense of victory. I knew Jimmy wouldn't follow through on his threat as to do so would be to break another unwritten rule of the field: no crybabies.

Tired and hungry, I headed for home, limping on a sore knee.

"Are you injured, solider?"

I started at the girl's voice. She was looking at me over her large glasses, her book open on her lap. I looked down at myself. My right knee was scraped and my left palm cut and my head hurt. I nodded.

The girl snapped her book shut. "Well, come in then, I haven't got all day."

She led me into her copse of aspens. In the center, in a small clearing, she had a pink and purple lunch box and a stool. She sat on the stool, opened the lunch box and set it on her lap.

"Come here," she demanded. She took my wrist and pulled me close to her, so that my thighs touched her knees. She turned my wrist over and examined my palm. From her lunch box she withdrew peroxide and some cotton balls. She ignored my hiss of pain as she cleaned the wound then put some yellow ointment on it and covered it with a bandaid. She did the same for my knee, then pulled me down to eye level so she could take care of a cut just below my right eye that I hadn't even known was there. With the cut below my eye, she was careful and deliberate, using a q-tip to clean it and a narrow bandaid to cover it.

When she was done she nodded once.

"You boys are so stupid, playing your war games. Honestly, you should all be spanked, the lot of you." 

I nodded without thinking about it.

She looked at me critically. "Well then, I'm done with you. You can either lie over my lap or take your leave of my hospital."

I stood but hesitated. I hadn't been spanked in a while. Ever since mom died, my big sister had taken over the duty as dad just wasn't up to it. But now that my big sister was off at college, I just got grounded when I got in trouble.

The girl cocked her head at me. "Seriously? Most boys start running when I say I'm gonna spank 'em."

I shrugged.

She took my wrist and pulled me to her right thigh, then down over her lap. I didn't resist, in fact I went willingly. I put my hands on the worn grass of the little clearing as she put one hand on my back, steadying us both.

Another moment stilled and stretched. I held my breath. When she spanked me with her book, the breath was exploded from my chest and I gasped. I hadn't expected her to use her book. Even through the protection of jean shorts and underwear, that stung. She did it again and I might have squeaked; I'm not sure. By the third spank with her hard-bound book, I began to feel that familiar sense of a real spanking: a sort of inevitability, the knowledge that the sting would continue no matter what I did.

"Stop squirming," she admonished.

I tried, but my feet kicked as she turned up the spanking. It felt like I was over my big sister's lap again, or my mother's, and I began to cry. It hurt, to be sure, but I'm pretty sure I could have not cried if I wanted to. I'm pretty sure I could have pushed myself off her lap and walked away. I'm pretty sure I could have spanked her instead. But I didn't. I laid there and took the spanking and cried.

When it was over, she wiped away my tears and gave me a hug and sent me on my way with a swat. By the time I got home, all sign of tears were erased, but the sting lingered.


End file.
